Trojan Odyssey

  38

  They had a long way to go. The hangars at the end of the isthmus airstrip were over a mile across the facility from the Lowenhardts' prison quarters. Besides a satellite photo of the facility for a guide, they now had the assistance of the scientists, who were familiar with the layout of the streets.

  Claus Lowenhardt fell back to talk softly to Giordino. "Is your friend truly in control of our situation?"

  "Let's just say that Dirk is a man of infinite resource who could talk or extricate himself out of almost any awkward situation."

  "You trust him." It was a statement more than a question.

  "With my life. I've known him for almost forty years and he hasn't failed me yet."

  "Is he an intelligence agent?"

  "Hardly." Giordino could not suppress a soft laugh. "Dirk is a marine engineer. He's special projects director for the National Underwater and Marine Agency. I'm his second in command."

  "God help us!" Lowenhardt muttered. "If I had known you were not highly trained undercover CIA agents, I would have never come with you and risked my wife's life."

  "Your lives couldn't be in the hands of a better man," Giordino assured him, his voice low and hard as concrete.

  Pitt moved from one structure to another, trying to stay in the shadows away from the streetlamps and overhead lights on the roofs of the buildings. It was not an easy journey. The facility was brightly lit from one end to the other. Floodlights had been installed on every building, along every street to discourage anyone from trying to escape. Because of the abundance of illumination, Pitt scanned the territory through binoculars rather than his nightscope, continually checking for evidence of guards lurking in the shadows.

  "The streets seem unusually empty of patrols," he murmured.

  "That's because the guards turn loose the dogs until morning," said Hilda.

  Giordino came to an abrupt halt. "You didn't say anything about dogs."

  "I wasn't asked," she said blankly.

  "I'll bet they're Dobermans," Giordino moaned. "I hate Dobermans."

  "We're lucky we got this far," Pitt said frankly. "We'll have to be doubly careful from now on."

  "And with us fresh out of meat," Giordino grumbled.

  Pitt was about to lower his binoculars when he detected a high chain-link fence with circular barbwire running along the top. He could see that a gate on the road leading to the airstrip was guarded by two men who were clearly exposed by an overhead light. Pitt re-focused the lenses and peered again. They were not men but women in blue jumpsuits. Two unleashed dogs nosed the ground in front of the gate. They were Dobermans, and he smiled to himself at Giordino's revulsion of them.

  "We have a fence barring the road to the airstrip," he said, passing the binoculars to Giordino.

  Giordino peered through the lenses. "Did you notice there is a smaller fence running a few feet in front of the big one?"

  "No doubt built to protect the dogs?"

  "To keep them from turning crispy-crunchy." Giordino paused and traversed the fence a hundred yards in each direction. "The main fence probably has enough electrical juice running through it to barbecue a buffalo." Giordino paused to check the neighborhood. "And not a vacant street sweeper in sight."

  Abruptly, the ground began to move and a low rumbling sound swept the facility. The trees swayed and the windows of the buildings rattled. It was a tremor like the one they experienced inside the lighthouse and on the river. This one lasted longer, over a minute before tapering off. The Dobermans went into a barking frenzy as the guards milled around uneasily. There would be no creeping up on the guards undetected while the dogs were excited and alert.

  "We felt an earth tremor earlier," Pitt said to Claus. "Is it coming from the volcano?

  "Indirectly," he answered matter-of-factly. "One of the scientists on our research team, Dr. Alfred Honoma, a geophysicist who was lured away from the University of Hawaii, is an expert on volcanoes. In his opinion the tremors have nothing to do with superheated rock ascending through the volcano's fissures. He claims the impending danger is a sudden slip of the volcano's slope that will cause a catastrophic flank collapse."

  "How long have you experienced these tremors?" asked Pitt.

  "They began a year ago," replied Hilda. "They've increased in frequency until now they come less than an hour apart."

  "They've also amplified in intensity," added Claus. "According to Dr. Honoma, some unexplained phenomenon beneath the mountain has caused its surface to shift."

  Pitt nodded at Giordino. "The fourth tunnel runs under the base of the volcano."

  Giordino merely nodded in agreement.

  "Did Honoma have a prediction as to when the shift will occur?" Pitt inquired.

  "He thought the final slip might take place at any time."

  "What would be the consequences?" Giordino asked.

  "If Dr. Honoma is correct," replied Claus, "a devastating flank collapse would unleash a cubic mile of rock, sending it sliding down the mountain slope toward the lake at speeds up to eighty miles an hour."

  "That would trigger massive waves once it hit water," said Pitt.

  "Yes, the waves could easily wipe out every town and village surrounding the lake."

  "What about the Odyssey facility?"

  "Since it covers a good part of the volcano's slope, the entire works would be swept away and buried." Claus paused and then he added grimly, "And everybody with it."

  "Isn't Odyssey management aware of the threat?"

  "They called in their own geologists, who argued that flank collapses are quite rare and only happen somewhere in the world every ten thousand years. My understanding is that word came down from Mr. Specter that there was no threat and to ignore it."

  "Specter isn't noted for being considerate of his employees' welfare," said Pitt, recalling the incident on board the Ocean Wanderer.

  Suddenly, everyone stiffened and stared up into star-peppered sky toward the unmistakable sound of a helicopter coming in from the air terminal. From the floodlights on the ground the lavender color was clearly visible. They all stood immobile, pressed against the wall of a building, as the rotor blades pounded the night air toward them.

  "They're looking for us," rasped a frightened Claus Lowenhardt, clutching his wife around her shoulders.

  "Not likely," Pitt asserted. "The pilot isn't circling in a search pattern. They're not onto us yet."

  The craft flew directly over them, not more than two hundred feet above. Giordino felt as if he could have hit it with a well-thrown rock. Any second the landing lights would come on and target them like rats in a barn under a dozen flashlights. Then Dame Fortune smiled. The pilot didn't flick on his landing lights until the craft had passed safely beyond where they stood. It banked sharply toward the roof of what looked like a glass-walled office building, hovered and then settled.

  Pitt took the binoculars from Giordino and trained them on the aircraft as it landed and the rotor blades slowly swung to a stop. The door came open and several figures in lavender jumpsuits crowded around the steps, as a woman stepped down, wearing a gold jumpsuit. He gently rotated the adjustment until he had a sharp definition. He couldn't be absolutely positive, but he would have bet a year's pay that the person who climbed from the helicopter was the woman who called herself Rita Anderson.

  His face tightened with anger as he passed the binoculars back to Giordino. "Look closely at the queen in the gold jumpsuit."

  Giordino studied the woman closely and watched as she and her retinue walked toward the elevator that led down from the roof. "Our pal from the yacht," he spoke, in a voice low and vicious. "The one who murdered Renee. My kingdom for a sniper rifle."

  "Nothing we can do about her," Pitt said regretfully. "Our number one priority is to get the Lowenhardts to Washington in one piece."

  "And speaking of one piece, how are we getting past an electric fence, three Dobermans and two heavily armed security guards?"

  "Not through," Pitt
said quietly, as his mind calculated the odds on a long shot, "but over.'"

  The Lowenhardts stood quietly, not quite knowing what to make of the conversation. Giordino followed Pitt's gaze toward the helicopter on the top of the office building a block away, his expression cool and focused. Wordlessly, silently, a plan took root between them. Pitt lifted the binoculars and studied the building.

  "The headquarters office of the facility," he said. "It looks unguarded."

  "No reason for them to lock people inside. All the workers are loyal employees of Odyssey."

  "And no paranoia about unwanted guests entering through the front doors." Pitt tilted the glasses. The pilots followed Rita into the elevator, leaving the helicopter seemingly deserted. "We'll never have a better opportunity."

  "I fail to see an opportunity in gaining entrance to a busy office building, bluffing our way past two hundred workers, trespassing to the tenth floor to steal a helicopter without someone suspecting a band of rats in their lair."

  "Maybe it would help if I could find you a lavender jumpsuit."

  Giordino gave Pitt a look that would have withered a redwood. "I've already gone beyond the call of duty. You'll have to think of something else."

  Pitt walked up to the Lowenhardts, who were standing with their arms around each other. They looked apprehensive but not frightened. "We're going to enter the headquarters building and ascend to the roof, where we will appropriate the helicopter," Pitt said. "Stay close to me. If we run into trouble, drop to the floor. We can't have you obstructing our line of fire. Our best hope is to act audacious. Al and I will try to make it look like we're escorting you to a meeting or interrogation or whatever scam works best. Once we reach the roof, hurry into the aircraft quickly and tighten your seat belts. The takeoff might be very rough."

  Claus and Hilda solemnly assured him they would follow his instructions. They were in it now up to their ears and had crossed over the point of no return. Pitt had faith in their adhering to his instructions to the letter. They had no choice.

  They walked along the edge of the street until they reached the steps leading up to the entrance of the headquarters. A passing truck caught them in its headlights. But the driver took no notice of them. Two women, one in lavender, the other in a white jumpsuit, were standing just outside the portal, smoking cigarettes. This time with Giordino in the lead, who smiled politely, they passed through the big glass door into the lobby. Several women and only one man milled about the lobby in conversation. Few looked their way as Pitt and the others passed, and those who glanced at them did so without suspicion.

  Moving along as if it was a common, everyday routine, Giordino hurried the group into an empty elevator before the doors closed. But no sooner had everyone entered, and before he could push the button for the roof exit, than an attractive blond woman in lavender entered, leaned in front of him and pressed the button for the eighth floor.

  She turned and studied the Lowenhardts, paused significantly as a look of wariness came to her eyes. "Where are you taking these people?" she demanded in English.

  Giordino hesitated, unsure of what tack to take. Undaunted, Pitt stepped beside Giordino and said in broken Spanish, "Perdónenos para inglés no parlante." [Forgive us for English nontalking].

  The eyes suddenly blazed. "I wasn't speaking to you!" she snapped maliciously. "I was talking to the lady."

  Caught in the middle of the exchange, Giordino was afraid of speaking, his voice a sure giveaway that he wasn't feminine. When he spoke, it was a squeaky high pitch that sounded odd and hollow inside the elevator.

  "I speak a little inglés."

  His answer was a penetrating stare. She studied his face and her eyes widened as she saw his five o'clock shadow. She reached out and rubbed one hand across his cheek. "You're a man!" she blurted. She wheeled and reached out to stop the elevator at the next floor, but Pitt slapped her hand down.

  The Odyssey representative looked at Pitt in disbelief. "How dare you?"

  He smiled devilishly. "You've made such an impression on me that I'm stealing you away to a better world."

  "You're crazy!"

  "Like a fox." The elevator stopped on the eighth floor, but Pitt pushed the close door button. The doors remained shut, the motor hummed and it continued upward to its last stop on the roof above the tenth floor.

  "What is going on here?" For the first time she took a good look at the Lowenhardts, who seemed amused by the exchange. Her face clouded. "I know these people. They're supposed to be confined at night in the prison building. Where are you taking them?"

  "To the nearest bathroom," Pitt answered nonchalantly.

  The woman didn't know whether to stop the elevator or scream. Confused, she fell back on her womanly instinct and opened her mouth to scream. Pitt showed no hesitation in ramming his right fist into her jaw. She went down like a sack of wet flour. Giordino grabbed her under the arms before she hit the floor and pulled her into a corner, where she was out of sight when the doors opened.

  "Why didn't you simply gag her?" asked Hilda, shocked at seeing Pitt brutally strike the woman.

  "Because she would have bitten my hand, and I didn't feel in a chivalrous mood to let her do it."

  Agonizingly, with apparently infinite slowness, the elevator rose the final few feet of its ascent and reached the stop on the tenth floor leading to the roof. After it eased smoothly to a halt, the doors spread apart and they exited.

  Right into a group of four uniformed security guards who had been standing out of sight behind a large air-conditioning unit.

  The atmosphere was one of calm if not an equal level of anxiety in Sandecker's penthouse apartment at the Watergate in Washington. He paced the floor under a trail of blue smoke from one of his mammoth, specially wrapped cigars. Some men might have acted as gentlemen with ladies present rather than enshrouding them with tobacco fumes, but not the admiral. They either accepted his noxious habit or he didn't entertain them. And, despite this liability, single ladies of Washington passed over his doorstep with surprising frequency.

  Considered a prestigious catch because he was an unmarried widower with a daughter and three grandchildren who lived in Hong Kong, Sandecker was besieged with dinner invitations. Either fortuitously or unluckily, depending upon how one looked at it, he was constantly introduced to single ladies looking for a husband or a relationship. Amazingly, the admiral was a master at juggling five ladies at the same time, one of the reasons he was a fitness nut.

  His lady of the evening, Congresswoman Bertha Garcia, who stepped into the office of her late husband, Marcus, was sitting on the balcony, drinking a glass of fine port while viewing the lights of the capital. Stylishly attired in a short black cocktail dress after attending a party with the admiral, she gazed with amusement at Sandecker's nervousness.

  "Why don't you sit down, Jim, before you wear out the carpet?"

  He stopped and came over to her, placing a hand against her cheek. "Forgive me for ignoring you, but I've got a situation with two of my people down in Nicaragua." He sat down heavily beside her. "What if I told you that our east coast and Europe were going to suffer severe winters the likes of which we've never seen."

  "We can always survive a bad year."

  "I'm talking centuries."

  She set her glass on a patio table. "Certainly not with global warming."

  "With global warming," he said firmly.

  The phone rang and he marched in and picked it up from his penthouse office desk.

  "Yes?"

  "Rudi, Admiral," came Gunn's voice. "Still no word."

  "Have they made entry?"

  "We've heard nothing since they left on a jet ski across the lake from Granada."

  "I don't like it," Sandecker muttered. "We should have heard from them by now."

  "We should leave jobs like this to the intelligence agencies," said Gunn.

  "I agree, but there was no stopping Dirk and Al."

  "They'll make it," Gunn said reassuring
ly. "They always do."

  "Yes," Sandecker said heavily. "But someday the law of averages will catch up and their luck will run out."

  39

  The guards were as surprised to see the group exit the elevator as Pitt was to see them. Three wore the blue jumpsuits of security guards, the fourth was a woman dressed in green. Pitt guessed she was of a higher rank than the men. Unlike the others, she carried no assault rifle. Her only weapon was a small automatic pistol in a belt holster on her hip. Pitt quickly took the initiative. He walked up to the woman.